As Honest As She Knows How
by Rhythm.Weaver
Summary: Even the thickest masks are transparent to a good enough friend.


**A/N: **_So, here's a little one-shot for you! Pretty rough, I banged it out real fast and edited it all in the same go. So it's probably got parts that are total crap. Please PM me with anything you catch, because I am a perfectionist. I like to change my chapters to be grammatically, spell-atically, and sense-atically correct._

_And, as anyone who's read any of my stuff knows, the rest of my A/N is at the bottom! Now, enjoy!_

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><p><strong>As Honest As She Knows How<strong>

_It was much later than they'd intended it to be when they finally left the school._

Since Kid was Lord Death's son, he had 24-7 access to the DWMA; something the three meister-weapon teams had taken advantage of upon coming back from their most recent mission. It was nice not to be hurried—not to have to rush home in order to get out of the building without being locked in.

They had been about to leave when Maka realized she had yet to get the library books she needed for the report she was supposed to write over the weekend. So Kid had gone with her to help her while the weapons and Black*Star went clamoring home for the night, loudly laughing and rejoicing in their latest easy victory.

It was such a difference from the quiet footsteps that echoed in the halls as the two meisters made their way to the library.

Maka found the books she wanted easily enough, and Kid helped her top off her stack, handing her a few that she wouldn't have thought to get without his help. Several others he helped her to photocopy so that she wouldn't have to carry the whole _History of Death Weapon Meister Academy _or _Deathscythes: Then and Now. _

"Go ahead and pack up; there are some papers upstairs that I've wished to make copies of for a while now. I'll be back shortly." Kid whisked upstairs, leaving the girl behind in the tightly-locked room.

Minutes later, Kid had returned with his arms overflowing with yellowed manuscripts and faded diagrams of creatures Maka had never seen before. They had iridescent wings twice the size of their bodies that were purple at the base and faded into blue, though you couldn't tell where the change occurred. They had shimmering underbellies with plated scales that seemed to hinge together with unnatural effortlessness and they might've had tails, or else the back appendage was actually two thick, stumpy feet. And yet, their multi-faceted, compound eyes appeared to glint with malice.

Before she could see more, Kid stepped around her and placed the sheets into the copying machine.

Maka leaned back, supporting her weight on the table. Kid had brought more papers to be copied than she had thought he would; they would be there for a while.

"So, how have you been doing?" it was an easy enough question to ask the reaper as he wandered the shelves close by, waiting for the quiet hum of the machine to finish. They hadn't really had much time to hang out recently, Maka reflected as she rubbed a scrape she had gotten in the day's battle.

"I'm doing well, thank you. You?"

"I'm pretty good." She glanced around the room at the different books; she felt calmer and more serene in the library than most other places she could think of.

"Really?" She looked up as he pulled looked out from around the bookcase with piercing eyes. "Because you haven't seemed terribly…happy, as of late."

She quickly looked away, embarrassed at having been caught. How had he seen that she was struggling? She had been, for a while, but she had been very careful to put that smile on every single day before she left the apartment, to check very carefully for any flaw in the mask. When had she screwed up?

There was a long pause as she debated what to say next. She couldn't just _lie _to Kid; he was much too good a friend for that. But she didn't want to dump all of her emotional crap on him either.

"If you don't wish to talk about it, that's alright." When she looked back at him, he was staring at the books again. "You don't need to."

"It's not that," she blurted. _Where did that _come _from? _"It's just…I can never explain it right…" _Never put into words just why it hurts so much, or even _what _hurts so much. It comes out all wrong and distorted and just doesn't make sense to anyone but me._

"I know what you mean," it was a quiet admission, but in the silent darkness of the library there wasn't any missing his whispered words.

There were several beats of silence.

Then, still not really looking at him from more than the corner of her eye and knowing he was doing the same,

"I'm not really a _talking _person." But God did she wish she were. She wished she were someone who could spill out all their worries to another without worrying about whether they really wanted to listen or if they thought her problems were pathetic and she was overreacting. She wanted to give up her fears and sadness and confusion to another and not worry about whether or not they saw her as a weak female rather than a strong and capable person.

She longed to be one of those girls who could just sob and let it all out in one go.

"I can tell you this: it gets better. It may seem like ten thousand years, but it gets better." His voice meshed softly with the muted purr of the photocopier and the warm hush of the room; they wove together in threads of damp purples and deep blues; gentle beiges and pale pinks.

Maka barely bit back the "Promise?" that was on her lips. She knew Kid wouldn't lie to her, and she knew he was telling her the truth as best he could, but he still didn't even know why she was so upset—so backwards and inside-out and unsure of which way was up. Why force him into a position where, if he were wrong or didn't fully understand her position, that he could feel guilty? Where was the purpose in that question?

So she didn't ask. And yet, she still wanted to. Even though she knew all the trouble it could cause him, she wanted so so badly to beg that one word of him.

She felt so pathetic.

He must have seen the conflict in her eyes.

"You could talk to anyone; there are lots of people who would listen to you, Maka. You've made a lot of friends. Even Ox would, if you seriously told him you had to talk."

_Yeah right. Sure, Kid, whatever. _It was the first thing that came to mind—complete and utter denial. But maybe…

Well, she wished he was right. Not necessarily that she could confide in Ox, which she highly doubted, but that she had that many friends within the academy.

And, suddenly, the quiet in the room grew heavier, stifling. She nearly choked on it as she breathed the now-thick atmosphere, and she could tell from the way Kid spun around that he was thinking the same thing. The absence of the copier's soft lullaby was strangling. With a quick promise to return momentarily, Kid scooped up the library's originals and hurried upstairs to return them. When he came back down, Maka had gathered his copies and stacked them in a carefully symmetrical pile. Kid accepted them with a grateful nod.

_They didn't speak until they were outside; when they left the school so much later than they had initially intended._

"Maka, wait." Maka turned back to see Kid striding after her.

He handed her a slip of paper.

"Technically, I'm not supposed to share this yet. But if you decide you really need to talk, then this is the number you mirror-call me on."

Stunned, Maka glanced down at the perfectly square slip of paper he had handed her. She had never thought of Kid as having his own number like Lord Death's 42-42-564; yet, it made sense. He was, after all, a teenaged grim reaper—he had to get these things some time or another, and it stood to reason that he would get a mirror-number before a Deathscythe.

Any other time, she would have laughed out loud. Written on the note were the numbers "80-80-808."

She could've sworn he started muttering manically about "Father saying it couldn't be all eights," and "why not…perfect symmetry…"

"Thanks, Kid," she mumbled. She just couldn't seem to accept his help as gracefully as she might have hoped she would.

He stopped his mutterings, seeming to understand.

"You're quite welcome."

And so they parted, to their different lives and different battles. But Kid would ask Maka how she was doing every so often when he saw her in the halls, and she was always as honest as she knew how with him.

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><p><strong><em>AN: _**_So, this is going to be incredibly awkward if anyone from school reads this, BUT I'm going to say it anyway!_

_This is based off of a very true story that has been affecting me quite deeply the past few days. I sympathize with Maka in many ways with her need for strength in a world run by boys (meisters, drumline...eh, same thing.)_

_The thing is, there's stuff I've been having trouble dealing with lately. And one friend from drumline actually tried talking to me the way Kid talked to Maka. Some of the quotes are exactly the same (which is why it will be so so awkward if he reads this because there will be no getting around admitting this was about our conversation! AH! Nate, don't read!)_

_But so...yeah. It was a very tough thing for me to do, even admitting I was struggling. And I still haven't really told him what's going on, but he's been a huge support already._

_Because everyone knows..._

_DRUMMERS STICK TOGETHER! (hahahaha! A little drumline humor for you there. Not that I expect most of you to get it... (all non-drummers are now re-reading the joke going "OOOOHHHH! Now I get it!"))_

_So basically, things were so confusing that, at that point, I had to write them out. And I couldn't really manage it from my own perspective, so this is what came out! Hope you all enjoy and I hope you guys review!_

_. . . . . . . . . Yes, flames are accepted, though TRY not to tell me I'm being as pathetic as my writing ;) . . . . . . . . . . ._

_~Rhythm Weaver~_


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